For an agonized moment he hovered poised above her – then he screwed his hungry eyes closed, and hastily wrestled the swimsuit upwards. And Helen said:
‘… we’ll merry-merry be …’
Ben froze, his heart pounding. She was half-smiling; he crouched there, waiting to make sure she was asleep, then feverishly dragged the swimsuit up over her belly. Was that as far as he dared go? Yes. He got up, grabbed the sheet and blanket off the bed and hastily spread them over her. He grabbed a pillow, got a hand under her silky head, gently lifted it. He shoved the pillow underneath.
He crouched over her, his breath trembly, looking down at her.
Oh, it was such a woman’s face … it wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense, but beautiful it was, in the woman sense. And now that her nakedness was past, he felt only a throbbing tenderness. Of course he had lusted after that body under the blanket, but right now, looking down on that lovely, rather worn, half-smiling face, it was tenderness that he felt. And with all his heart he yearned to press his lips to hers.
But he did not. He forced himself to his feet. Make yourself scarce, Sunninghill … He looked down at her and whispered:
‘… we’ll merry-merry be, tomorrow we’ll be sober …’
He left, closing the bedroom door behind him.
And, oh boy, tomorrow we were sober. ‘Are we not?’ she inquired huskily of her dressing-table mirror. ‘Is that really us, Helen? Or Granny come to give us a nasty surprise?’
She turned for the bathroom, holding her head. Then the fact registered that her swimsuit was hanging from her midriff.
She stared down at herself, trying to think, her heart sinking; then she closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God …’
She hurried to the bathroom, fumbled on the shower taps. She got under the hot water. Then she remembered Dundee.
‘Dundee!’ she shrieked. ‘Where are you? Oh God!’
She washed her hair frantically, trying to wash out her conscience. She burst out of the shower, slung a big towel around her chest and hurried through to the kitchen. ‘Dundee?’ she croaked. There was no Dundee. But on the table she saw a note. She snatched it up. It read: I’ve got Dundee.
She closed her eyes. ‘Thank God …’
She turned and slowly retraced her wet footprints to the bedroom, trying to remember what had happened. She brushed her teeth vigorously, her head hurting, and dressed, feeling terrible. She put on some make-up with exaggerated care. ‘Patch up the wounds …’ It seemed like the first time she’d worn cosmetics in a month. ‘It is a month …’ The last time she’d been to Burraville. Back in the kitchen she made a cup of strong black coffee, sat down and forced herself to eat a slice of bread and honey. It was hard work.
They’d been going to have a swim – she remembered that far. There had been a lot of heady crap about how she was going to write a book. Or was that the day before yesterday? She remembered deciding to have a brandy, taking it through to the bedroom to drink whilst she changed into her swimsuit. Then, kerpow – blank.
She gave a deep, hungover sigh. Then? Well, then, obviously, Ben had put her to bed on the floor. With only half her swimsuit on. How had that happened? Oh God – what else had he seen? What had he done? And what would Clyde say if he knew? Oh God again …
Helen took a grim, uptight breath. Well, well, lady, better pull yourself together! You don’t go getting pissed half naked with strange men, no matter how lonely you are! So, take hold. You’ve been pissed for two days! Thank God he’s leaving today …
And there’s no need to look to him for moral support when giving Billy a bollocking. Fight your own battles!
Helen tossed back her coffee resolutely, banged down the mug and strode out into the backyard. The sunlight hurt. She strode for the Land Rover, got in, slammed the door and started the vehicle. Get this Billy business over with, then retrieve Dundee from Ben and say goodbye. Goodbye, Ben Sunninghill, thanks for putting me to bed – and keep your mouth shut …
She roared out of the yard on to the rough track to Billy’s shack, bouncing and grinding, slamming the gears. She was glad to be doing something active whilst she nursed her guilty conscience and tried not to think. About her drunkenness, about what Ben Sunninghill had seen … Oh, dear God, had she been snoring? Was her mouth open? Oh dear. And, oh, Clyde McKenzie I love you …
Twenty minutes later she arrived at Billy’s hut. And as she pulled up in a cloud of dust she just knew that goddam Billy and his wife had gone walkabout! She skidded to a stop and flung open the door.
There wasn’t a sign of life, except the horse in the paddock near the windmill. The cooking fire was dead, the broken-up door was scattered about. Helen strode to the hut and peered inside angrily; their blankets were gone, and an empty bottle lay on the floor. ‘Billy!’ A hundred yards away was the shed for the lucern and the runabout utility truck. She strode over to it. She peered inside. ‘Billy?!’ No damn Billy asleep in the hay. Nor in the truck.
She rubbed her aching eyes. She walked back to the Land Rover and slumped against it.
God, God, God. Now this …
Then she heard Ben’s motor cycle. She looked up, her face grim, in no mood for Mr Sunninghill.
Ben came riding along the track, wearing only a shirt and shorts. He turned into the clearing round the hut and came rumbling up beside her. He cut the engine as he glanced around.
‘So, walkabout, is it?’
Helen glared as if it were all his fault. ‘Yes.’
He put his hands on his narrow hips. ‘So, what’s to be done?’
Helen closed her eyes in exasperation. ‘Where’s Dundee?’
‘In the empty chicken run. So what do we do about Billy?’
We? She sighed furiously. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Heard your Land Rover, realized what had happened. Followed your dust.’
‘Realized what had happened?’
Ben smiled. ‘That for some reason you’d decided to handle Billy by yourself. Yesterday you asked me to give you moral support. But I thought I’d better come, in case you needed me.’
‘And why do I want to handle Billy by myself?’ she demanded.
He smiled that smile. He knew what she was worried about but his conscience was clear. If only by a whisker. ‘Because you’re feeling fragile – and you’re worried about what may have happened last night. So you want to distance yourself from me.’ He raised a palm. ‘But please don’t worry, because nothing happened.’ He added: ‘And I have to leave today, anyway.’
She was glad to hear that. She said grimly: ‘What
